This one is particularly exciting as it’s a full-length novel. Here’s the blurb:

An ordinary girl catapulted into an extraordinary world meets two even more extraordinary men—but what will she do when she discovers their sexy secret?

Fiona Gillespie moved to London shortly after graduating to take advantage of the opportunities the capital could offer. However, months later, she’s still living in a horrid flat and working in a grimy East End pub. The problem is, she doesn’t really know what she wants to do, career-wise. So when she happens upon an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she jumps at the chance. A great deal of determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her dream role.

But working at the Totally Five Star London is just the beginning. She adores the role and flourishes, impressing her bosses and making her increasingly determined to climb the career ladder.

While her career is flying, though, her love life is non-existent. She hasn’t even thought about men, never mind met or dated one for months, so when she bumps into two gorgeous businessmen in the hotel, she’s surprised to find her head has been well and truly turned. Even more surprisingly, they flirt with her—both of them! She’s drawn to James and Logan, despite feeling that they’re way out of her league.

When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover. Scenes of people-trafficking, drug-pushing and wild sex parties all appear in her active imagination. Yet what she actually sees is something she’d never even considered before, something that piques her interest.

After discovering their sexy secret, what will she do with this new-found knowledge?

Fiona Gillespie wiped a damp cloth half-heartedly over the surface of the bar. It was a pointless exercise. The pub’s fittings and fixtures were so old that no amount of scrubbing would remove the grime that had been ingrained in the wood over the decades. That and the next time she served one of the old drunks that frequented the place, it’d just get beer spilled on it again.

Glancing at her surroundings in distaste, Fiona stifled a derisive snort when she caught sight of the swinging pub sign through the window. It had never really registered before, but The Royal Oak? There was nothing remotely royal about the pub in London’s East End where she worked. If an actual royal so much as stepped foot across the threshold, they’d run screaming in the other direction. A shame, really, as a chance to try to woo Prince Harry would not go amiss. She was sure those mischievous eyes and smile hid a multitude of sexy sins. His grandmother would not approve.

Abandoning her cloth with a sigh, she reached for a newspaper one of the patrons had left behind. There was hardly anyone in, as usual, so no glasses to collect, tables to wipe, or bowls of nuts to refill. A flick through the paper was her only source of entertainment. Or at least the only thing to stop her going completely out of her mind with boredom.

It wasn’t quite where she’d seen herself when she’d decided to take a chance and move to London for work after graduating from university. But while she figured out her next career move—or any career move—this would have to do. It served a purpose—paying her a paltry wage, just enough to cover the rent and bills on her scummy flat, and food. There really wasn’t much left after that, so her social life mainly consisted of vegging in front of the TV with her flatmates.

They’d club together their miniscule amount of disposable income to buy some cheap, supermarket own brand lager and swap stories, either about their pasts or about how their current situation was just temporary—just a stepping stone on their way to success, to high-flying, ridiculously well-paid jobs in the banking world, the publishing industry, in PR, advertising, acting, production, tourism… The list went on.

Fiona was just as determined to get a foot on the career ladder, if not more so. She’d rather scurry back home to her parents in Birmingham with her tail between her legs than stay in this dump for much longer. The only trouble was, the others at least knew what they were aiming for, which particular ladder they were trying to grab hold of. She’d graduated with a first class honors in creative writing and didn’t have a clue what to do with the damn degree now she had it.

Nobody was approached just for having a degree in creative writing, got given a ton of money and was told to sit down and write a book. It simply didn’t work like that, more was the pity. Even the world’s most famous and successful writers had had to start somewhere. And she wasn’t necessarily sure that fiction writing was the way to go, anyway.

A cough, accompanied by a whiff of stale smoke and booze, alerted her to the presence of a customer.

Fixing a smile on her face, she turned to him and said politely, “What can I get you?”

A white-haired, grizzled old guy with yellowing teeth—the teeth he still had, anyway—squinted at her. “Pint, if you’re not too busy reading the bleeding newspaper.”

Holding the smile so firmly in place it hurt her now-gritted teeth, she took the proffered glass and filled it. Placing it back on the bar, she then picked up the money that had been left there. The exact right amount. This guy bought enough pints to know. She murmured her thanks, but she needn’t have bothered. The grumpy old sod was already halfway back to his table, precious beer in hand.

Double checking that there was nothing to be done, she shifted her attention back to the newspaper, figuring it was better than wondering about a career she couldn’t even imagine.

As it happened, the paper wasn’t all that engaging. It was several days out of date, so she knew about all the big news pieces already, and the weather and TV listings were now obsolete. But her interest was piqued when she reached the jobs section. She’d never looked in this particular publication for jobs before, thinking that the online searches she did on various websites were more targeted, more relevant. But then, how could you target a role you didn’t even know you wanted?

Skimming through the ads, she immediately dismissed many of them. She had no wish—or the qualifications—to drive an HGV, look after sick or old people, cold call, sell advertising, work in retail or become a model. But amongst all that was something interesting. Something that maybe, just maybe she could do.

*****

I’m currently on blog tour with this book at the moment, too, so be sure and check out my social media accounts (links in my bio, below) for the links – there’s an amazing giveaway!

Happy Reading,

Lucy x

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Blurb:

After five years spent proving his innocence in a gambling scheme, Jimmy Doyle Walker is back on the field for the Washington Diplomats. Given one season to demonstrate he can still contribute to the team, he guards his secrets well, knowing exposure of his unorthodox sex life would create a career-ending scandal. When he meets Evelyn Gardner, she tests his resolve, and he risks everything to show her the delights to be found in his arms.

Living day-to-day as a switchboard operator, Evelyn Gardner loathes the sexual cravings that cost her the home and family she’d always dreamed of. When she meets Jimmy Doyle Walker, the sexy first baseman for the Washington Diplomats, at a church revival meeting, he challenges her beliefs and her expectations. Determinedly, he seduces her through erotic letters, sensual gifts, and sexual play, until she dares dream she can have satisfaction and respectability.

Too bad her father, the preacher, seems set on ruining not only their reputations but also their lives.

Author’s Note:

I hope fans of the Mustangs Baseball series will enjoy this step back in time to 1936 when baseball truly was America’s pastime. America was still reeling from the great stock market crash and dealing with a heat wave that destroyed lives and livelihoods (the dust bowl). Amid the turmoil and heartache, baseball provided a much-needed distraction for people of all ages.

Baseball is a simple game in terms of equipment and space needed to play. Any empty lot, yard, street or field will do. Anything from a cardboard box to a trash can lid can serve as a base. One ball. One bat, and some gloves, though those can be optional or shared between teams. Anyone can play with little risk of injury, making it the perfect game for picnics and schoolyards.

In 1936, ballparks didn’t have lights. All games were played during the day so attending a game was a special treat for hardworking fans. Most listened to the play-by-play via radio (no television yet!), read about their favorite team in the newspaper or stood on the sidewalk where innovative news outlets posted play-by-play information as it came through via telegraph from the ballparks.

The hero of Suspended Game, Jimmy Doyle Walker, is the grandfather of Doyle Walker, the manager of the Mustangs in my present-day series. Readers might recall (Strike Out, Mustangs Baseball #6) that Doyle has a bat in his office that his grandfather used during the 1936 season. Jimmy Doyle walks a fine moral line. An upstanding guy, he’s struggling to revive his career after being falsely accused in a gambling scandal while protecting his personal life from those who would condemn him. The BDSM lifestyle is not a 21st century invention. People have been practicing kink since the beginning of time, albeit, behind closed doors. In 1936, small, secret communities of like-minded people existed all across the country. The group of which Jimmy Doyle is a member is a figment of my imagination, but is nonetheless accurate in its depiction of the secretive nature of the members.

The heroine of the story, Evelyn Gardner, reflects the reality of women during that time. The roaring twenties brought a degree of liberation for women, but for the most part, they were subject to the whims of the men in their life and society’s moral strictures. A woman’s value remained tied to her virtue, and that was subject to her marital status. Divorce wasn’t unheard of, but it was a stain on a woman’s character, as was any expression of sexual desire. Women had earned the right to vote, but sexual fulfillment was still a man’s right.

Finding the romance of this era was a challenge, but one I thoroughly enjoyed. I hope you do too.

I’m going to use the first of my September posts to go: squuuuueeeeee!!! Why, you might ask? Well, that’s because my first novel, Grand Slam, is out now. I co-authored it with good friend and fellow Birdie, Lily Harlem. It’s a BDSM erotic romance with a sporty twist. So if you love tennis players who also happen to be drop dead gorgeous and dominant, then you’ve come to the right place.

Here’s the skinny:

California had seduced me with promises of a new life working at Los Carlos Tennis Academy. What I didn’t expect was the dark, brooding number one seed, Travis Connolly, resisting my help. He wasn’t interested in my psychology skills. Instead his attention was drawn to the edgy, sharper corners of my desires, proving that they existed, setting me challenges and driving me crazy to the point of combustion.

I’m the best tennis player in the world—officially—so why would I need a damn woman full of psychobabble to get me on form? Despite my irritation, however, I can’t resist pushing Marie Sherratt’s buttons even though doing that shows her the darkest shades of my lust, the parts of me I buried deep. So I set her a challenge, one she rises to, one that has me rising too, and before long my game relies on her calling the shots, hitting the target and bending to my will. One thing was certain, being not just master of the court, but also of Marie is seriously good for my soul.

And an excerpt:

I turned to the door. I always kept it ajar when expecting a client, to give the impression that I was open to whatever they needed to talk about. It was a subliminal thing.

Travis stood in the frame, his wide shoulders filling the space, the top of his head almost brushing the wood and his jawline holding a heavy sprinkle of black stubble.

Fuck, he should come with a warning. Hazard to the health of every female heart. He looked good enough to eat, or lick all over at the very least. Tasty.

“Knock, knock,” he said, slipping his gaze down my body.

“Come in. Take a seat.” I gestured to the couch and made a point of not letting my attention slide over his body. I didn’t need to look at soft blue jeans worn in all the right places or at his black polo top with a Nike logo just over his right nipple to imagine what was beneath them. I took a deep breath to stop myself doing just that. His physical attributes weren’t my concern, it was his mind I was after.

He shut the door and sat sideways on the low S curve of the black leather recliner, his long legs folding over and his knees coming up high.

“Please,” I said. “Lie back, make yourself comfortable.” I took a seat on a soft chair just to his left and crossed my legs.

Damn, I hadn’t realized how short this tight little red skirt was. Quickly I uncrossed, then started to worry there was a gap between my knees that would flash the top of my stockings or worse, what was between them. Hurriedly I pressed my notebook over my lap, resisted a squirm and forced a gentle smile at Travis.

“You wear glasses,” he said.

“Contacts usually.” I touched the black frames and pressed them up the bridge of my nose a fraction.

“You were in a hurry this morning then?” He frowned, as though irritated by me being in a hurry.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You were in a rush to get to work?”

“Not especially, it’s just the heat and being tired, it’s made my eyes a little sensitive. I thought it best to opt for my glasses when I left home this morning.”

“So you slept at home last night?”

“Pardon?” I creased my brow in confusion.

His fists were clenched and a muscle twitched in his jawline. “You slept at home then and not at…?”

I struggled to keep the surprise out of my expression. Bloody hell, was he getting at what I thought he was? Did he want to know if I’d slept at Peter’s?

His dark eyes were boring into me; they were deep chocolate-brown, almost black. Annoyance swirled in their depths, so did a curious certainty that I’d answer his question. He was definitely a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

Well, I supposed he would again now, because if he didn’t chill out we’d get nowhere and I had things to start work on. Plus I hadn’t slept with Peter. I wasn’t a to-bed-on-the-first-date kind of woman, so what was the harm in being truthful? “Yes, I slept at home last night.” I opened my notepad, clicked the spring on my ball-point pen and tilted my chin. “Alone.” I caught his steady gaze. Yes, I’d told him something he had no right to wonder about. But by telling Travis what he appeared to want to know, he owed me something in the confessing stakes.

He nodded slowly, then lifted his legs and did as I’d asked, lay back on the chair and settled his gaze over the L.A. skyline.

“And what about you?” I asked, watching as he unfurled his fists and rested his hands over his flat belly. “Did you sleep alone?”

He frowned. “You know I did.”

“No I don’t.”

“I was eating alone, Marie. You saw me.”

“Yes. I did. But you could have been heading out to meet someone or catching up with other players. I’m not a mind-reader.”

I waited for him to elaborate on our chance encounter or offer some information on the rest of his evening. He didn’t.

“In these sessions, Travis, it’s important for me to know who else is in your life, who you hang out with, who you share your thoughts and feelings with.”

“You have everything you need to know in my file.”

“Your file is full of facts. I’m more interested in the non-tangible things.”

“Like what?”

“Things like who your special someone is.”

He sucked in a breath, rolled his lips in on themselves and stared out the window.

“Have you left someone you care about back in England?” I asked gently.

“I think this is all very much beyond the realms of what we’re supposed to be doing here.” He’d fisted his fingers again and shifted his right foot irritably, as though kicking something away. I wondered if he was imagining it was my head.

“It’s up to us to decide what we want to do with our time together, Travis. We can talk about your accident or cognitive methods for keeping calm and focused under pressure, or you can unload all the stuff that fills your mind and stops you from being able to concentrate on court. Entirely up to you.”

“Great, in that case we won’t discuss my love life. It really is the last thing that plays on my mind when I’m beating an opponent into submission.”

Okay, now was the time to play my trump card. “Yet you feel it necessary to ask me about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to answer.”

“No, I didn’t, but you wanted to know, and since we’re stuck with each other for three hours a week for the foreseeable future I figured it would make sense for us to know a little about each other’s lives.”

“So now we do. I know you’re dating my coach and he wants to get into your knickers, and you know I sleep alone and have done for a long time now.” He paused. “Too long.”

Great, now we were getting somewhere. “And would you like that to change?”

“What?”

“Sleeping alone.”

He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. I watched the black strands feather through his fingers and an image of myself doing that to him as he kissed down my sternum, onto my stomach, lower, suddenly stole into my mind.

I tightened my legs together. Felt a pleasurable little rush of heat in my lower abdomen. No. That was a ridiculous thing to daydream about. Travis Connolly was not only way out of my league, he was also a surly grump. Sitting here talking to him was stretching seconds into minutes.

“Are you asking me if I want to get married?” he asked, his gaze slipping to my chest.

Damn it, my nipples were tingling now.

“No, not at all. Simply wondering if you feel your career allows you to have a romantic relationship or if it’s something you’ve sacrificed in the name of tennis.”

“I’ve sacrificed lots of things to be number one seed.”

He twitched his shoulders as if suggesting those things were insignificant to him. The mere fact he made that micro movement told me they weren’t.

“Like what?” I asked.

He finally shifted his attention from my chest and let out a long breath. “I didn’t go to uni like a lot of my friends did so I missed out on the whole student experience. I’ve had to turn down countless invitations to parties, weddings, etcetera over the years because I’ve been playing on the other side of the world. And yes, occasionally I’ve felt that I haven’t been in a situation where I could be with someone I wanted to spend more time with.”

“That must be hard. Especially if those people you wanted to be with were important to you.”

“Yes, it was, but they understood and moved on.”

“They moved on?”

“Yes.” He tightened his lips into a thin line and stared out the window.

“It’s important,” I said, “to have love and support from those you care about.”

He shrugged. “Important but not essential.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at me again, my face this time. “I don’t need anyone, Marie. I can do this alone. I’m used to relying on me.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Even if I was in a relationship, that wouldn’t change. I would still be relying on myself, day in day out.”

“Most people believe that having a partner means you don’t feel alone, that you don’t need to be so brutally dependent on yourself and problems encountered through life are halved.”

“I’m not most people.”

Boy, did I agree with that. “In which case, Travis, you’re very lucky to feel that way.” I paused to let my acknowledgement of his statement sink in. “Has it changed though, that sense of absolute self-reliance, since the accident?”

“No, why would it?” He frowned.

“Sometimes it does when you have a near-death experience.”

He laughed. “It was hardly a near-death experience. I think you’re being a bit dramatic for the sake of justifying your job.”

I didn’t need to justify anything but I let him have that one, for now. “You told me all about it in our last session, Travis. It sounded pretty terrifying. If I’d been knocked unconscious, broken my ribs and then been strapped to a board and blue-lighted to hospital I would certainly wonder whether or not I’d survive and if I did how my life might be changed.”

“I did survive, and my life hasn’t changed.” He rolled his eyes, letting me know he thought I was talking rubbish.

“But you’re here, in L.A.”

“Well yes, but only to get back to peak fitness and then I’ll reclaim my titles and it will be as if the accident never happened.”

“I hope that’s exactly what the next few months bring for you.” I smiled to defuse the tension.

“They will.” He folded his arms. “My sponsors are paying good money for that to happen.”

“A place like this doesn’t come cheap.” I paused. “And has the fracture site been giving you any pain while you’ve been at Los Carlos?”

He cocked his eyebrows. “What has that got to do with my mental state and all this psychobabble of yours?”

God, it was like drawing blood from a stone. I was certainly earning my money here. “Pain affects the body, yes, but also the mind. I’m just wondering if you’re still suffering any twinges.”

“No.”

“And if you were you’d tell your doctor?”

“Yep.”

“Good, because all pain is bad for your psychological health as well as your physical.” I crossed my ankles and tapped my heel on the wooden floor.

He looked at my feet. “Do you really think so?”

“Think what?”

“That all pain is bad?”

“Yes, it’s the body’s warning system to let you know something is wrong.”

“Or right,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving, his attention rising from my feet to my face.

“I’m not following you.”

He sat and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbed his hand down his cheek and around his chin,; the stubble making a rasping sound against his palm.

“Travis?” I said, closing the notebook and hoping that would send a signal that whatever he wanted to tell me would be off the record. Was he still suffering when he was training? Had he not healed properly? If so that was something we needed to take very seriously.

He stared at me, almost as if he was angry that I’d made him think of something, then stood, walked to the window and surveyed L.A.

I couldn’t help but ogle his cute behind. I knew what his arse looked like naked but bloody hell, he could fill out a pair of jeans to perfection. His tennis gear looked amazing on him but jeans, especially a pair that suggested he’d spent many an hour lounging in them, were enough to actually make my mouth water.

He placed his hands on his hips, kept his back to me. “Come here, Marie.”

“Why?” I looked at the back of his head, how his dark hair sat like silken fingers on his collar.

“Do as I ask.”

I was about to retort that I’d do no such thing. I was his psychologist and I’d stay in my chair, but something in me wanted to comply with his request. Perhaps it was the way he’d said it, as if I had no choice but to go to him, or maybe it was some kind of magnetism his sexy aura gave off that pulled me in like a fish on a line.

Placing the notebook and pen on the chair, I moved to the window and stood next to him, about a foot away.

“Some people like pain,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Masochists you mean?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Shit, was he trying to tell me that he enjoyed the pain the accident had left him with? If so, we really needed to discuss this. “That’s not the majority of people though.”

“No, but more than you think. And some people like administering pain.” He turned to me, cocked his head slightly and moved into the space I’d left between us.

I looked into his eyes. Swallowed and tasted his cologne as it traveled into my nostrils and then laced my tongue. “Would you consider them to be good people, Travis? These individuals that like to hurt others.”

“I’ve known a few people who like to give and receive higher sensations, and most of them I consider to be good friends as well as good people.”

I hesitated, felt his body heat radiating toward me, wrapping around me as I pondered his words. We were close, very close, and his consuming presence made logical thinking much harder than normal. “I’m not quite sure what you’re telling me.”

“You talk about pain like it’s a bad thing, Marie.”

“It is.”

He smiled but it wasn’t a sweet smile, more like one of a hunter who’d spotted prey.

“Pain is unpleasant for a reason,” I said. “Because it’s bad.”

“I disagree.” He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. It was a challenging, cocky gesture.

A tingle snaked its way up my spine and threatened to wreak havoc in my body by turning into a tremble. But I beat it down. I wouldn’t let a patient get to me this way. I was the one supposed to be holding the reins here.

“Maybe, Marie, you should open your mind to new ideas with a little more grace.”

“I fail to see how I haven’t been graceful in discussing your theory that pain is good.”

“Can we keep it that way?”

“I hope so.”

“In that case,” he flicked his attention from my eyes and looked at my hair, “would you like me to demonstrate?”

Damn, the guy made me feel tiny. Even though I was wearing heels, his broad chest and wide shoulders were looming over me. “Okay.”

He twitched the right side of his mouth into a half-smile. Now he looked like a hunter who’d captured his prey. A trickle of fight or flight seeped into my system. Which would be my best option?

“Now that’s the first rule.” He reached up and undid the clasp holding my hair on the top of my head. It tumbled around my shoulders as the clasp fell to the floor. “Consent.”

“Doesn’t consent require knowing what you’re agreeing to?” Fuck, with him this close and stroking my hair, spreading it out, I’d pretty much agree to anything. Who was I kidding? Fight or flight was not an option, the only thing that shot through my mind was giving myself over to him. Allowing him to do whatever he wanted, control my body, feed it what it needed.

Damn, it had been too long since I’d been with a man. It was making me desperate.

He slotted his other hand over the left side of my head, the sound of him sliding his fingers over the shell of my ear noisy. My breath hitched and I locked my knees to stabilize my stance. I stared up at him, noting the small shafts of black hair sneaking out of his skin on his chin and the way his bottom lip was a little plumper than the top.

“You see, some pain,” he said, gathering my hair up at my crown and tugging to create tension on the roots, “can heighten the awareness of everything else going on in the body.”

He pulled harder, forcing my head to tip back.

I gasped as discomfort shot across my scalp.

He increased the pressure a little more.

I reached out and clutched at his shirt, felt his hard chest beneath. “Travis, I—”

“Ow, I—” A barrage of sensations blasted through my system. The feel of him pressing up against me, hot hard male, all wide pecs and solid thighs. The pain from having my hair tugged with force, and the awareness that my belly was shoved right up against his groin. A groin that held a wedge of thick flesh.

“Just feel,” he whispered, hovering his lips over mine. “Endorphins are rushing into your bloodstream, giving you a natural high as pain alerts your nerve endings that something exciting is happening.” He slid his free hand up my back, tracing the outline of my spine through my blouse.

I breathed in the air he was breathing out, warm and sweet. The scream of hurt in my scalp made me want to wriggle but being held so firmly and confidently kept me still. The heat of the discomfort slipped down my nape and neck and over my shoulders, then combined with the lovely sensation of him stroking my back.

“Can you feel it?” he whispered. “Pain mixing with pleasure, the lines between the two blurring.”

I could feel it with every fiber of my being. My skin was alive with awareness, my breasts were heavy and desperate for stimulation, and between my legs I was buzzing for action. Good, hard man action, preferably of the naked, sweaty variety. “Yes,” I gasped.

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012, 2013 and 2014 and Best Women’s Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9